


Hopeless Without You

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, FAHC, GTA Universe, Happy Ending, M/M, and it's only directly referenced once but the damage described is from it, okay technically it's a motorcycle accident, semi-graphic depictions of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: Ryan knows that hope and willpower and shaky hands can't hold Gavin together. But it's all he has.(Title from "Without You" by The Anix.)





	1. Chapter 1

It’s not going well. It’s not going well at _all_.

Ryan’s long discarded the mask, favouring periphery vision over reputation, and there’s too much blood on his hands, far, _far_ too much, all bubbling up from Gavin’s shrapnel wounds, from his gruesome, ripped-up front and the gashes on his arms – Ryan would joke it’s the last time he’s ever letting Gavin on a motorcycle but the words are choked up in his throat because it’s looking more and more like it’ll be Gavin’s last time for _anything_.

Gavin’s breathing is way too shallow and short for Ryan’s liking, his shoulders barely moving with each inhale. Ryan’s frantically trying to keep him closed up, pressing rags of clothing – Gavin’s shirt, Ryan’s undershirt – to the wounds and tying up what he can to staunch the flow of blood but he can’t stop it all, not by a long shot, and Gavin’s too weak to do anything himself.

Ryan _knows_ the crew is coming for them – they lost contact over the comms ages ago but last they spoke, the crew were mere streets over from their shitty little warehouse, pinned down by cops and valiantly fighting back, and Ryan can only fucking _hope_ they’ll make it – mostly knows they won’t all perish there, the LSPD aren’t that weapon-heavy, but he can hear the explosions outside and they don’t sound like Michael’s homemade bombs.

Ryan leans in closer to Gavin’s side and breathlessly asks him to keep his eyes open, hands slipping in the blood-soaked mess as he ignores how blurry his vision is, ignores how his eyes sting and brim with tears.

Gavin grunts and the sound makes more blood spill from him – Ryan shushes him and presses more cloth to the gash, drops his forehead to Gavin’s shoulder. Gavin tries to speak again and Ryan shushes him more firmly, dragging more of Gavin’s ruined shirt over to pluck out another shard of metal from it and stuff it against a gruesome hole. He guesses Gavin wants a distraction, wants something else other than the distant explosions and the insistent sirens and Ryan’s panicked panting. Ryan doesn’t have the words for comfort, can’t pluck out any lies when he doesn’t even know what to lie _about_. Gavin knows he’s bleeding out. He knows they lost contact.

“Y’know, when I first met you, you were a bit of a dick,” Ryan says – Gavin tries a weak laugh and Ryan shakes his head, fingers digging into soaked cloth. “Don’t move.”

Gavin nods the tiny bit he can.

“You stabbed me,” Ryan continues, ignoring the lump in his throat. He gives a huff of humourless laughter. “Never thought we’d get past that.” He swallows thickly and watches blood ooze out between his fingers.

“I kept telling myself I hated you,” Ryan whispers. “After that.”

“Why – w’ld y’do tha’?” Gavin breathes – Ryan shuts his eyes and shushes him again. Lifts his head to gently press his forehead to Gavin’s temple instead and crack open his eyes to look into Gavin’s bleary ones, crinkled around the edges with pain and watery with unshed tears.

“So I wouldn’t do this,” Ryan mumbles, and presses the softest kiss he can to Gavin’s bruised cheek and it takes a matter of seconds before everything crashes on him and he drops his head back to Gavin’s shoulder, pressing his wet eyes to his shirt.

“Impossible to hate you,” Ryan murmurs. “I didn’t – want to ruin anything.” _But doesn’t matter now_. “Fuck, I should’ve - “ _done this earlier_ , but Ryan doesn’t get the words out before he’s crying, trying desperately to hide his face in Gavin’s shoulders as his hands stay semi-steady on the makeshift bandages, slicked up to his wrists with blood, the cuffs of his leather jacket stained with it.

Gavin doesn’t try to reply and Ryan lets himself fall apart a little more – doesn’t fucking _matter_ anymore, his stupid reputation and his stupid pride and the stupid fucking paranoia that makes him stay five feet away from everyone and keep the mask and _why couldn’t he just say it earlier_. It’s been a while since he’s said _I love you_ to anyone, two lifetimes and another heartbreak ago and he never thought he’d say it again but here, now, the words stick under his tongue, trapped behind his teeth, bubbling up like they’ve done so many times since he met Gavin, from quiet nights under the stars to the rowdy game nights where Gavin never looked happier and Ryan was a mere bystander who wished to be the reason for it.

Gavin nudges him the slightest bit with his hand and Ryan shushes him, a hitching sob caught in his throat as he tries to calm himself but it isn’t _working_. Again, Gavin nudges him, a little bit more forcefully this time, and Ryan shifts to look down at his hand, weak and mostly limp by his side.

With effort betrayed by his pained breaths, Gavin bends his wrist to show Ryan his palm. Slowly closes his hand into a fist. Raises his pinky finger. Then index. Then thumb. Closes it again and weakly extends pinky and thumb before relaxing again.

 _I love you, too_.

Ryan turns his face away and cries just a little harder at it, far too conscious of Gavin’s weakening pulse, of how his breaths are growing shallower and shallower, and if Ryan chances a glance up he can see quiet tears slipping down Gavin’s cheeks as well, and he feels so damn _selfish_ for falling apart like this when Gavin’s literally bleeding out beside him but it _hurts_ and it’s too reminiscent of last time he loved someone and Ryan never managed to wash their blood off his hands either.

Ryan can’t speak. Can’t. He can’t make the words no matter how much he tries and all he ends up doing is staining Gavin’s shirt with tears as he literally holds him together and hopes with all the scraps he has left that the crew’ll get here soon. That they won’t be too late.

Blood starts dripping out of Gavin’s mouth.

Ryan whispers silent pleas for him to stay awake and waits for the end. Either of the fighting or of the Gavin.

Neither.

Both. 


	2. Chapter 2

Gavin doesn’t remember much beyond the painful, hasty retreat and the makeshift hospital and the way the lights spun in dizzying circles and the way Michael filled his vision with anger and concern and _stay awake, asshole!_ with a snap of his fingers that disoriented Gavin more than focused him. The sounds of rush and bustle and the slickwet sounds of – then his own ragged scream as they plucked out metal shards, pain flooding over him like a car crash and just as confusing, mixed signals telling him to shout and shut up at the same time.

_Get the fucking needles – get the fucking needles!_

_Michael, he’s gonna pass out._

_Then fucking let him, I don’t care – where’s Ryan, we need him._

_We can’t let Ryan in here._

_Geoff -_

_I’m serious, Jeremy. He’s not fit for it._

_Pass the scalpel. Geoff, you might wanna look away._

More screaming. And pain. And white lights and Michael’s babbled apologies as he _cuts_ and painpain _agonyagony_ and Gavin blacks out halfway through another scream.

\-- 

Gavin’s in a lot less pain when he wakes up the second time – spies the morphine drip by his bedside, follows the tubing down to his forearm, gets distracted and his gaze drifts down to the strange warmth on his hand – the _other hand_ on his hand, fingers gently entwined with his, and last time Gavin saw those fingers they were stained wet-red with his own blood.

Ryan looks as exhausted as Gavin feels but he’s awake, his eyes dulled with fatigue and what Gavin would guess is a fitful sleep, if any at all, by the dark circles under them. He’s unshaven, but clean, in casual clothes and a T-shirt Gavin recognises as one he bought for Ryan ages ago, the drawing on it long since faded, too much time and too much wear and Gavin wonders morbidly if that’s all he would have left Ryan if he hadn’t ever awoken again.

The thought makes him sad, makes the corners of his mouth downturn, and one glance at Ryan’s haggard face makes him think again of how utterly broken Ryan was earlier, remembers the weight of Ryan’s head on his shoulder and the sound of his crying, how uniquely human and distinctly un-Vagabondlike Ryan was, and it _terrifies_ him. It terrifies him so completely that even as Ryan drops his head a little, a joke rises in Gavin’s throat, some sort of probably unsmart quip about _guess you aren’t rid of me yet_ and he opens his dry mouth to speak but before even a word escapes, Ryan sniffles and reaches up to wipes his eyes with his other hand and something _aches_ in Gavin’s chest under all the bandages, aches so sharply it’s almost like the shrapnel ripping into him all over again and instead of any unsmart quip or unfunny remark, Gavin pulls a little on Ryan’s hand. Ryan shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“C’mere,” Gavin rasps, pulls again a little harder. This time Ryan doesn’t try to resist, closes the already-short distance between them and rests his head on Gavin’s shoulder and Gavin doesn’t know what to say when he feels tears soak through his shirt again.

Instead, he lifts his other hand and softly clears his throat to get Ryan to look. Repeats what he signed before – fist, pinky, index, thumb, fist, pinky, thumb, relax – _I love you, too_ – and Ryan grasps that hand before Gavin can lower it completely, brings it up to to himself. Gavin’s breath hitches quietly when Ryan brushes his lips over his knuckles, feather-light and just as soft, careful like Gavin’s going to shatter at any stronger touch.

“I love you, too,” Ryan mouths against his knuckles, _barely_ audible, his voice cracking on the first word and the last. He repeats it with no sound at all, only known by the movements of his mouth against Gavin’s skin but Gavin’s always been good with lip-reading, whether by sight or by feel, and he curls his fingers around Ryan’s as much as he can in return.

Ryan squeezes his hand and gently lowers it back to the bed, fresh tears still dampening Gavin’s shirt but slower than before, Ryan’s breathing still choppy but gradually evening out as he clutches Gavin’s hand like it’s a lifeline.

Gavin ignores the slight watery blur to his own vision and squeezes back and silently resolves to give Ryan a lot more than just a silly thrift-store shirt with some stupid pun on it, resolves to give him all the little affectionate, romantic gifts he can and he’d make a cheesy joke to himself about giving Ryan his heart as well but – Ryan already has that. Has for a long time, longer than Gavin cares to admit.

Gavin tips his head against Ryan’s. Ignores the dull aching under his bandages. Closes his eyes but this time the darkness isn’t terrifying.

This time, he knows he’ll wake up. 


End file.
